It was years and years ago that a former colleague looked at me, then herself in a full length mirror and declared that she prefers to eat to live rather than live to eat.
In contrast to me, she scrutinized every morsel of food that entered her body. She called herself a vegetarian but she hardly ate vegetables, or anything else. She was apparently also sensitive to dairy, nuts, and most cruciferous vegetables. That left her free to consume bagels, tea and water. I won’t mention how she packed away packs of Starburst fruit chews.
I was more than a little put out by her smug wannabe Upper East Side declaration (especially since she was from Chicago, of all places). My lack of thigh gap was a sin that she clearly found offensive and the idea that I would eat actual cheese when tofu cheese was available was evidence of my backward sensibility.
At the time, I practically lived at the gym and despite my lack of the aforementioned thigh gap, my BMI was a desirable 21. I could hack squat 360 pounds, and got through every winter without so much as a sniffle. She could not say the same. Not by a longshot.
I no longer live at the gym and my BMI has crept up a bit. That said, I must also say I’ve held up pretty well. I had confirmation of this when I ran into Miss Watercress Sandwich at LAX. She was waiting for a connecting flight to Phoenix and I was headed to New York. Our eyes met and we immediately recognized one another. We chatted for a few minutes during which time she told me of her fitness and diet regimen. She also remarked that I didn’t look a day older than when she last saw me all those years ago.
What is my secret, she wanted to know. So I told her the truth.
I eat to LIVE!